


Purple, Peach and Vibrant Green

by QueenofThyme



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fake Relationship, M/M, Muggle AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 17:15:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13462836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenofThyme/pseuds/QueenofThyme
Summary: Draco Malfoy has a waiter pretend to be his date to impress an ex. Of course, it helps when that waiter is exceedingly attractive and happens to be Harry Potter.





	Purple, Peach and Vibrant Green

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jadepresley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadepresley/gifts).



> In honour of the wonderful Jadepresley's birthday, I have written a muggle au. Since this is Jade's speciality, I am here as a mere novice and for more muggle aus, you must read Jadepresley's superior muggle aus immediately. 
> 
> Happy birthday Jade. <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Draco clutched his champagne glass a touch tighter when his eyes locked onto Blaise’s across the grand ballroom. He looked away immediately but the damage was already done: Blaise was making his way over.

The room felt smaller despite the tall heritage ceilings and the air stuffier despite the cool breeze passing through from the nearby window. Draco pulled at his collar – a nervous habit – and took an undignified gulp of his champagne, hoping the bubbles would hit him faster than they usually did. The night had only just begun, and he wasn’t so keen on talking with his ex sober.

A waiter, dressed in a gimmicky tuxedo and horrid purple bowtie, approached Draco, holding out a (much needed) new glass of champagne. Despite the suit, the man had a pleasing appearance. His eyes were a vibrant green which (although clashing with the purple) complemented the soft brown of his skin. Thin, round glasses sat low on his nose with wiry arms that disappeared into wild, almost-black hair.

Draco saw the opportunity immediately.

He stepped in close to the waiter as he accepted the glass. “Lose the bowtie,” he whispered.

The waiter, to his credit, obeyed immediately, un-tieing the bowtie swiftly with one hand and slipping it into his trouser pocket. Just in time for Draco to place his old champagne glass on a nearby bar table and swivel around to–

“Blaise,” Draco greeted with his best society smile. “How charming to see you here.”

Blaise looked as polished as ever, from his tailored paisley suit to his immaculately applied eyebrow liner. He returned Draco’s smile, flashing his surgically whitened teeth. “I could hardly miss the event of the season now, could I, Draco?”

“No, of course not,” Draco returned politely. He watched as Blaise’s eyes flickered over to the waiter with interest. Draco cleared his throat. “Forgive me, where are my manners? This is–”

“Harry Potter.” The waiter took over without hesitation, stretching out a hand for Blaise’s manicured hands to curl around. “Draco’s date,” he added, a slight smirk to his lips.

“Your date?” Blaise repeated, returning his eyes to Draco. Something flashed in them.

Jealousy, Draco hoped. Regret. Remorse. But Blaise quickly recovered. “You’ve done well for yourself,” he said, letting his eyes drift back to the waiter, to _Potter_ , and taking him in from head to toe.

Before Draco could think of a witty response, Potter stepped in once more. “I rather thought I was the lucky one in this instance,” he replied but he didn’t look at Blaise at all when he said it. Only Draco.

Draco took a slow sip of champagne to hide the colour that he could feel springing to his cheeks.

“Right,” Blaise said stiffly from somewhere beside them. “Well, I best do the rounds. Draco.”

Draco wrenched his eyes from Potter to acknowledge Blaise. “Blaise,” he said with a polite nod.

Draco watched as Blaise turned on the spot and walked back into the crowd. The tailoring of his suit really was something else – the fabric clung to his body like a second skin, highlighting toned thighs and broad shoulders. Draco wanted to find out the tailor’s name but not enough to give Blaise the satisfaction of asking.

As Draco continued to stare at his ex, a short, deliberate cough reminded him he wasn’t alone. He turned his head to find Potter watching him with an amused expression. As charming as it looked on an admittedly handsome face, being laughed at irritated Draco.

“Are you always like that?” Draco snapped.

Potter raised his eyebrows. “Like what?” He asked.

“So presumptuous,” Draco supplied. “And cocky,” he added as an afterthought.

Potter laughed – a simple carefree chuckle that Draco felt at the back of his neck. “You _didn’t_ want me to pretend to be your date to impress that man you clearly used to fuck?”

Draco stifled a cough as he swallowed the champagne he’d been sipping a little too fast. “Excuse me,” he choked out. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

Potter had the nerve to roll his eyes – which would have been more irritating if he hadn’t paired it with a distractingly attractive hand-running-through-his-hair move. “I think I can talk to you however I like.”

“No, you can’t,” Draco countered, already hating the snotty tone he was developing but pressing on regardless. “You’re getting paid to serve drinks and treat the affluent guests as if they’re more important than they are.”

Potter blinked back at Draco for a moment, his amused expression finally dropping. His eyes circled the room quickly and then returned to Draco. “You don’t think you’re that important?” he asked softly.

“That’s not what I said,” Draco said quickly. He downed the last of his glass and held it out to Potter – an easy escape from a conversation that had become too serious. “Get me a refill, would you?”

Potter narrowed his eyes at the glass and made no move to accept it. “That’s hardly an appropriate way to treat your date,” he said – a playful chiding. “Or a waiter,” he added with a more serious tone.

Draco stiffened at the subtle reprimand. “You’ve served your purpose. Now you need to–”

“Oh darling,” interrupted a loud, melodic voice behind Draco. “So, it’s true. You _do_ have a date.”

Draco swivelled around to greet Pansy, making a quick silent appraisal of her outfit – a slinky black velvet number with a surprisingly conservative but flattering high neckline: stunning, as always. “How did–”

“Blaise told me of course,” Pansy said to Draco as her eyes unsubtly surveyed Potter. “I think you’ve made him a little jealous, actually. Good for you. I thought you would still be pining for him after– “

“ _Pansy_ ,” Draco interrupted. There was no need for a waiter, a _stranger_ , to hear his pathetic history with Blaise.

“Oh sorry, I’m being awfully rude, aren’t I?” Pansy said, missing the point. She turned to Potter and looked him up and down openly – as if she hadn’t already been doing so out of the corner of her eye. “I’m Pansy Parkinson,” she said, holding out a hand.

Instead of kissing her hand (like any polite society man would know to do), before Draco could stop him, Potter had clasped Pansy’s hand tight. “Harry Potter,” he introduced himself as they shook hands.

Luckily, Pansy didn’t seem to find this odd at all and took obvious delight in being afforded a handshake. “Ooooh, nice firm grim there,” she commented with a mischievous grin. “Draco’ll like that when you–”

“Pansy,” Draco interrupted loudly. “My mother was looking for you earlier. Perhaps you should go find her?” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Narcissa was always looking for Pansy – called her the daughter she would never have. It was meant to be a playful joke about Draco’s sexuality, but Draco had stopped seeing the humour in it after the third or fourth time it was said.

“Alright,” Pansy said to Draco, recognising the dismissal. “No need to get tetchy.” She returned her attention to Potter. “Lovely to meet you, Harry. Be good to my Draco, won’t you?”

“Yes, of course,” Potter replied smoothly with a charming – not that Draco was charmed at all, just in general – smile. He leaned into Draco’s side as Pansy walked away, his breath warming Draco’s ear as he whispered: “Unless you’d prefer me to be _bad_?”

Draco clutched onto his empty champagne class so tight he was surprised it didn’t shatter. He could feel his face heating up. He didn’t dare look over at Potter. “Fucking Christ,” he cursed a little too loudly – a few heads turned their way. “What is that supposed to mean?” he asked in a quieter voice.

“I think my meaning was obvious,” Potter murmured back.

Draco waited until all the nosey socialites turned back around before replying. “You’re a waiter.”

Potter stepped in front of Draco, making avoiding eye contact practically impossible. His eyebrows were drawn and there was a hardness to his face Draco hadn’t noticed before. “And that matters how?” he asked, obvious anger in his tone.

Draco realised what he had said. “Oh no, it doesn’t,” he quickly backtracked. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

That didn’t seem to appease Potter in the slightest. “Then how did you mean it?” he pressed.

Draco swallowed and pulled at his collar. “Look– you’ve misunderstood. I just mean that I hardly know you.”

“That’s not what you said,” Potter said seriously, his intense gaze holding Draco in place. “You implied you wouldn’t entertain the thought of sleeping with me simply because you think I’m a lowly waiter beneath your status. Correct me if I’m wrong?”

The directness startled Draco. He found himself tripping over his words which he almost never did. “I–I– fine. Yes, that’s what I meant. I’m sorry. I don’t actually _believe_ that, obviously. It’s just something that– I mean you’re, you know, fit, so it’s not like–”

“So, fit waiters are okay?” Potter asked, a slight up-tilt returning to his lips.

 “Whatever,” Draco said, annoyed at being called out for being wrong and then again for his lackluster apology. “Fuck you, Potter. I don’t know why I’m bothering explaining this to you since–”

“I’m a waiter?”

“No,” Draco said firmly. “Since I don’t know you.”

Potter didn’t say anything for a moment, but he remained staring at Draco. The silence was more pronounced under the intensity of that gaze. Finally, he smiled. “Well, seeing as I’m your date now, you have plenty of time to get to know me.” He tilted his head. “And plenty of time to reflect on your prejudices.”

“You’re not my date,” Draco corrected, taking a small step back. Potter was a little too intense. A little too direct. Draco wasn’t used to it. And he certainly wasn’t used to being called out. It felt strange that he didn’t hate it as much as he thought he should.

“Okay,” Potter agreed with a smirk that could mean nothing good. “I’m sure Blaise won’t find it weird if I go and offer him a drink then.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“He’s pretty fit,” Potter continued. “I’m not sure why you let go of a man like that.”

Draco felt a tightness low in his chest – a familiar jealously Blaise always brought out. “Fine. Whatever,” he said, not caring to hide the bitterness in his tone. “You’re welcome to Blaise. But when you find him cheating on you on your new faux-dragonhide couch, don’t come running back to me, Potter.”

Potter’s smirk dropped. “I’m sorry.”

Draco shrugged. “It was just a hypothetical.” He lifted his champagne glass to take a sip nonchalantly before remembering it was still empty and dropping his arm awkwardly.

Potter’s eyes followed the action of Draco’s hand and then drifted down further still before roaming back up slowly, blatantly checking him out. Draco felt hot all over. “You’re much fitter,” Potter said when he made eye contact again.

Draco turned his head, embarrassed by the blush he could feel on his cheeks. “Obviously.”

Immediately, Potter was at his ear again. “You know what would make him really jealous?”

“What?” Draco asked reflexively

“If we disappear for a while.”

“Why would that–” The implication hit Draco a moment too late. “Oh!” He didn’t have any time to collect his thoughts on the matter before Potter had taken hold of his hand (Pansy was right about the firm grip) and was leading him through the crowds. Draco disposed off his empty glass as they passed a bar table but Potter moved to fast for him to pick up a fresh one. Perhaps that was for the better anyway.

He was certain it was at least partially (if not completely) in his head that everyone was watching them leave with knowing eyes. Not that they were going to, you know, do anything. Draco wasn’t really sure of Potter’s intentions. Although if Potter were to initiate anything, Draco wasn’t confident he’d want to reject him. Which was strange. He hadn’t any desire to be with anyone else since Blaise. But, as Pansy kept telling him, it was about time.

Rather than leading him up to one of the Hotel rooms above the ballroom (which Draco had hoped he’d have access to as wait staff), Potter led him out onto a small balcony.  The view wasn’t particularly extraordinary but Draco did appreciate the cool night air on his heated skin.

Potter leant up against the railing, looking over the edge. “I think he noticed.”

“Who?” Draco asked, mimicking Potter’s position (with a healthy, unassuming thirty or so centimetre gap between them).

“Blaise.”

“Oh, right.” Draco cleared his throat. He’d forgotten for a moment that this was about making Blaise jealous. A niggling disappointment settled in his gut. “I hope so.”

“Do you want him back?”

Draco considered the question carefully. He wanted what they _used_ to have back but that wasn’t quite the same as wanting him now, after everything that had happened between them.  “No, not really,” he answered truthfully.

“Then why are you so concerned with making him jealous?”

That question was easier. “He should know what he’s missing out on.”

“And how does that affect you?” Potter asked. “Whether he knows or not?”

“It doesn’t,” Draco said with a shrug, although he wasn’t sure if that was completely accurate. “I don’t care about him anymore.”

Potter made a sound like he didn’t quite believe Draco. “Then stop worrying about what he thinks.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Sure it is,” Potter said. His voice had grown softer. “Maybe you just need a little assistance in forgetting about him.”

Draco looked over as he felt Potter slide closer. A strong breeze passed through them that had nothing to do with the shiver that ran down Draco’s spine. He straightened up and Potter did the same.

“Maybe you just need to remember how it feels for someone else to touch you like he did,” Potter continued, his voice back to a whisper.

Draco watched, frozen, as Potter brought a hand up and gently ran his fingers across Draco’s right cheek, leaving a trail of heat and dropping to linger at his neck. It was gentle and intimate and new, very very new.

“He never touched me like this,” Draco said, his voice automatically dropping to a whisper in response. Blaise had been passionate but he was hard and fast. There never seemed to be any time for caresses like this or even just eye contact. Potter’s bright eyes _demanded_ eye contact.

Potter’s hand drifted up to trace the outline of Draco’s lips. “Then maybe it’s you who’s been missing out.”

Draco led out a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. Potter was going to kiss him. And Draco was going to let him. He could feel Potter leaning in closer; he could feel the magnetic pull between their lips; he could feel the ghost of Potter’s breath before–

“Draco, there you are, thank goodness.”

Draco didn’t open his eyes. Pansy was not ruining this for him. “I’m a little busy, Pans,” he called back.

“You can snog your date anytime.” If only. “This is an emergency.”

Draco opened his eyes – Potter was already leaning back against the balcony, seemingly unaffected – and looked over to Pansy reluctantly. “Clearly,” he said, noticing the pastel pink dress she was now wearing. Pansy never wore pastels – she thought it made her pale white skin look pasty. The dress had a modest square neckline, a cinched waist and an atrociously puffy tulle skirt that Draco knew Pansy wouldn’t be caught dead in. Except here she was.

“It’s not mine,” Pansy explained. “I swapped it with a lady in the bathroom. Didn’t even get her number. Or her name.”

“I thought that’s how you liked it.” Draco countered. Pansy was a bit of a heartbreaker although, to be fair, she always made her intentions clear – dinner and sex, no numbers, no breakfast.

“We didn’t have sex,” Pansy said with obvious disappointment. “I just offered because she spilt crab cake on this one and she was practically sobbing about how much she needed to impress her new boss. It seemed like the right thing to do.” She looked down at herself and rubbed at a small stain running along the centre bodice. “But that’s before I was reminded how bad I look in peach.”

“You look wonderful,” Harry chimed in smoothly (stealing Draco’s line). “You have nothing to worry about.”

“You could make a hessian sack look hot, Pans,” Draco added.

Pansy beamed at them both and gave a little twirl, letting the skirt fly up. It really was a nice fit for her once you got past the absurdity of seeing Pansy in something that wasn’t tight and black.

“When you two are finished canoodling,” – Pansy winked – “you should come back inside. It looks like they’re going to start the speeches soon.”

Emergency resolved, Pansy returned inside, leaving Draco alone with Potter once more. He desperately wanted to get back to the moment before they were interrupted, to be kissed by this bold, challenging man. But you couldn’t force a moment like that.

“Can I get you a drink?” Draco asked, simply to have something to say (other than _Will you_ _kiss me_?).

“No, I’m–”

“Of course, I had forgotten you were on the clock. I sincerely hope you aren’t going to get in trouble for taking a break from serving?”

Potter frowned, as if he hadn’t considered that. “Perhaps we should go inside,” he suggested instead of answering.

Draco wasn’t so keen on inside. There was less opportunity for private kisses and a much higher likelihood of being stuck in dull conversation with boring socialites. But Potter was already heading in and Draco had no intention of leaving his side….to keep up appearances, of course.

Inside, the room was hushed as people looked up to the stage where a woman stood tapping on the microphone with poorly disguised discomfort. She had thick bushy hair that framed her warm brown face. She smiled awkwardly at the crowd revealing a slight overbite and large teeth. What most took Draco’s interest, however, was the tight black velvet dress she wore. He searched the crowds to find Pansy – it wasn’t hard, the peach stood out amongst a sea of black and navy. She was staring up at the woman onstage with rapt attention.

“Welcome everyone,” the woman was saying into the microphone with a slight shake to her voice. “On behalf of the Mayor, I’d like to thank everyone for attending, and of course, your generous donations to tonight’s selected charity: Second Life, which provides housing and food for refugees.”

Draco thought donation was rather a strong word. In reality, all the rich guests had paid to attend an important social event. The fact that the proceeds went to charity was an added ego boost. This event wasn’t about doing good for the sake of doing good but maintaining status. It was all a terrible charade and Draco had wanted no part of it, but of course, his mother had insisted. So, he’d paid for his ticket and out of spite, had used his mother’s money to donate another hundred grand to the cause on top of that. She hadn't been pleased when she found out.

The woman on stage – she had finally introduced her name as Hermione – was still talking, boring the crowd with the obligatory romanticizing of the year’s politics and all that the Mayor had done for his community, etcetera. It would have been more convincing had the Mayor bothered to attend the event he was hosting.

Finally, Hermione’s speech seemed to be drawing to a close, her relief to be getting off stage obvious. “Lastly, I’d like to remind everyone that we are still accepting further donations for tonight’s charity. The founder of Second Life is here with us tonight and will be doubling all donations made from his own pocket. I’ll handover over to him now so he can explain a little bit more about how Second Life supports refugees.”

Hermione all but ran off the stage and Draco watched as Pansy immediately made a beeline for her. He turned to Potter to point this out, but Potter had disappeared. Draco’s heart dropped into his stomach. Perhaps Potter hadn’t been as into him as he thought.

A familiar voice drew Draco’s attention back to the stage. There, microphone in hand, explaining how everyone’s donations would be assisting refugees, was Draco’s faux-date (and faux-waiter apparently), Harry Potter.

Draco had hardly any time to process that fact when he felt a hand clasp his shoulder. “You certainly upgraded.”

Draco turned to find Blaise saddled up next to him. He wasn’t sure what to make of the comment.

“I’m happy for you,” Blaise continued, and Draco could tell he meant it.

Before Draco could reply – not that he had any idea how to – Blaise had removed his hand and was already walking off through the crowd.

In a little bit of a daze, Draco turned back to the stage, but Potter had disappeared. Again. Draco couldn’t deal with this much longer. He tugged at his collar. His mind was spinning.

“Hey,” came a voice from behind him. Just _hey_. As if that covered everything.

Draco turned to face Potter. He was holding out a glass of champagne. Draco didn’t take it.

“You were wearing the same bowtie.” Even as Draco said it, he could now see the waiter’s bowties were a much cheaper shade of purple than what Potter’s had been.

Potter grimaced. “An unfortunate coincidence.”

“You served me a drink.”

Potter flashed his teeth as he smiled wide. “I was just offering it to the most attractive man in the room.”

Draco felt himself blushing again. It was as if red was the natural colour of his skin and his paleness was the abnormality.

“Should we try this again?” Draco asked. He accepted the glass of champagne from Potter and held out his other hand. “Draco Malfoy.”

Harry took it immediately. “Harry Potter," he said with a small wink. His grip was exceedingly firm.


End file.
